


Coalesce

by LadyLan



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-14
Updated: 2018-02-09
Packaged: 2018-05-01 14:30:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5209370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLan/pseuds/LadyLan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stranded on Namek after Goku fails to defeat Frieza, Bulma finds herself with two strange allies. Alongside Vegeta and Piccolo, she attempts to make it back to Earth - and the dragon balls - before one member of the testy trio snaps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

She was alone.

Her knees shook but she took another step. Her hands flexed outward before returning to a tight fists, nails cutting half-moon shapes in her palms. The pain reminded her she was alive. It was difficult to believe she was. Throat too dry to swallow, she was helpless but to blink as the wind rustled her hair, blowing shoulder-length strands of blue in front of her face, skewing her vision, momentarily blocking the sight she so desperately did not want to see. A tear slipped from the corner of her eye, clinging to her soiled cheek. Another step and her trembling knees gave out.

Falling was a strange thing. Even as the empty, hollow feeling of solitude engulfed her entire being and a very large part of her wanted death, she reached out and caught herself. The sound of her hands hitting the solid ground broke the silence, and the force shook the tear loose and it dropped onto the leaves of blue grass.

There were few times in life where Bulma felt helpless; rarely were things so out of her power she couldn't set them right again. Not when she was so well versed in Shenron's abilities and in sole possession of the means to attain the dragon balls.

Her eyes lifted once more to see the bodies strewn across the serene landscape. Moments before it had been a battlefield. And shortly thereafter the site of a massacre. She'd already witnessed more than the average woman her age, but never before had she seen such carnage, such malevolence. Back flush against a distant boulder, she'd bit her lips together, willing herself not to scream or cry or make any sound to give her meager energy signal away.

If he'd felt her flickering ki, Frieza had thought she was gnat. Or whatever the Namek equivalent of a gnat was.

But Frieza was gone now. After the battle he'd scoffed at the dead warriors littering the planet and took off in his ship, alone. Bulma wasn't sure if all of his men were dead or if he'd left them behind with such little care. She hadn't seen many of their enemies since landing on Namek, just a few dead soldiers and a spectacularly frightening run-in with Vegeta.

However, in the span of a few minutes, Vegeta had switched allegiances to fight for her side. Or their side. She wasn't really sure what was what anymore. But by some twist of fate, the same man who'd sought out to personally destroy her world and who'd raced to scramble the Namekian dragon balls together before the earthlings had become their strongest ally. Her strongest ally.

And then he'd been killed.

Just as Frieza had ripped her friends apart, some limb by limb, Bulma had cowered as he'd reduced the once mighty prince to a tangle of useless limbs. She'd stood there, frozen, listening as the prince begged - begged - Goku to avenge their people.

And one by one Frieza picked off her friends. Krillin. Sweet, innocent little Gohan. And finally Goku, their one savior. He'd failed too.

With shaking elbows, she pushed herself to her feet. Closing the distance between her and the bodies, she paused by the first.

She pressed her fingers against his cheek. Gohan was far too young to meet this fate. His father lay a few yards to his left. She knelt by her oldest friend and took hold of his cold, lifeless hand. That was twice now. First the Saiyan on Earth and now the evil Lord Frieza. Perhaps, in the grand scheme of things, Goku wasn't the strongest there was.  
Bulma could hardly recognize Krillin. And she quickly looked away, her eyes resting on the final body.

Vegeta.

Her teeth caught her lower lip and she bit down, hard.

Another steady step, and she crouched beside the fallen warrior. She knew next to nothing about him. He'd probably had only selfish reasons for joining their side, but in his last actions he'd fought for good. And in his last breaths he'd begged for retribution.

She craned her neck in all directions. Someone was missing. The young Namekian lay near the jutting rocks on the far side, his tiny green hands splayed outward. She sucked in a breath. Not of sadness because he'd too died far too young, but with hope.

Piccolo wasn't here. He could still be alive.

And if Piccolo were alive, Kami might be too.

She was there. She could get back to Earth and wish all of her friends back. What they'd do about Frieza or planet Namek, she wasn't sure. But she couldn't just wait here for her own death. She had to find Piccolo, then she had to get home.

"Frieza..."

At the sound of the low growl, Bulma shrieked and jumped back. She landed on her butt, the hard ground stinging her tailbone. She blinked. Vegeta let out another grunt, and coughed up a bit of bloody phlegm.

"Frieza-- Fuc--"

His words died, and Bulma swallowed back the dryness in her throat.

Her plan was shot. Probably. She stood and took three timid steps towards the prince. With a booted foot, she nudged his shoulder. His dark eyes snapped open, met hers and he groaned as his world faded back to blackness.

"Well, damn," she muttered to the empty world. He was still alive. She could see the slight rising and falling of his chest, but the hole in his breastplate was far too close to his heart. He wouldn't last long.

She had to get him some help. And she definitely had to work on this plan of hers.

As it stood it was herself and two of her greatest past foes with no ship and no other way to escape planet Namek.

She felt like cursing again, but instead she took a steadying breath and unclipped her capsule belt. Medicine might not have been her forte, but she was versed in all the sciences. Certainly not in freakishly strong alien anatomy, but she was genius.

And she was getting the hell out of here.


	2. Chapter 2

He sucked in another breath. It took far too much effort for such a simple, thoughtless action. And with each strangled gasp, his chest hurt like a bitch.

And speaking of bitches...

Vegeta cocked open an eye. That action too was difficult. Through the sweat and dried blood, he could barely make out the shape of the woman crouched at his side. Moments earlier she'd look lost, half dead herself, but now her pale hands worked to pry off his breastplate and her eyes shone with determination. As though his presence had given her hope. As though she thought he could possibly provide something for her to live for. He would have laughed, if it weren't for the pesky hole in his chest. The woman tossed his armor to the side and tested his wound. He sucked a breath through his teeth and teetered between consciousness. But he held on.

It was pathetic. Too weak protest, he felt the cool sting of medical instruments as a syringe was inserted into his vein. He wanted to curse this woman and her soothing poison. Saiyans didn't require anesthetic, but he succombed to the numbness. There wasn't enough strength in him to fight. But he'd snap her little neck the moment he recovered out of principle.

He almost wished the child Namekian was still alive. At least the boy had been able to heal him quickly. This woman, on the other hand, seemed to take pains in testing his wounds, calculating his strength, torturing him.

A coppery tang coated his tongue and he coughed over another cup of blood. He watched his regal blood stain the blue grass of this planet, his mind focused on the events that had led up to this moment. He might be powerless now, but when he recovered he'd be even stronger than before.

And Frieza would pay for the mockery he'd been reduced to. He'd take extra time pounding his useless corpse into whatever misfortunate planet served as the stage for their rematch. It was a satisfying thought as the pain once again became too much to bear.

* * *

Bulma checked her watch for what felt like the billionth time. The clock wasn't accurate for anything apart from letting her know how much time had elapsed. And it had been forty-seven minutes since she'd healed the Saiyan Prince.

She'd attempted to drag him away from her friends' lifeless bodies, but to no avail. He was heavier than he looked, and he'd cursed her in his sleep. She'd almost smiled at that, but even though she found him amusing it wasn't enough to lift her spirits. Not so soon after burying her friends.

Sitting on a boulder and facing away from the carnage, Bulma stretched out her legs and sighed. She took another glance at her wrist. Forty-eight minutes. Her toes wiggled impatiently inside her boots.

With time to kill, she read the numbers printed on the side of the capsules in her possession. Her medkit had come in handy, but her foodstuff was short and unfortunately there wasn't anything in helping her get off this rock. Mainly, a fully functioning spaceship. Her biggest fear, however, was that Frieza had left behind some of his men.

"Who the fuck are you?"

Her head jerked towards the gravely voice. One side of her mouth tugged to a smile as she pushed herself to a standing position and started towards the prince. With calculated aloofness she replied,

"I could ask you the same question."

"You know exactly who I am." His voice was harsh. Though it took considerable effort to sit up, he managed. He was all about appearances.

Vegeta was right; she knew who he was. And even if he wasn't sure her name, he knew who she was, too. He'd seen her hanging around Kakarott's son and his bald friend. She was the woman who'd creamed over Zarbon and then shouted after he'd transformed, the woman he'd taken the dragon ball from. An Earthling. And an even more pathetic one than the others he'd met, a difficult feat. If his head wasn't throbbing, he'd sneer but as it stood she wasn't worth the effort.

"Fine." Her lips tried out the word, " _Vegeta_. I'm Bulma."

"Hn." Vegeta - adding that bit of information to the long list of things he doesn't give a shit about - dismissed her.

She rolled her eyes and knelt by his side. "I couldn't lift you earlier, but now that you're awake I'm going to need to wrap your wound."

"I'm fine."

"There's a hole in your chest," she deadpanned. "You aren't fine. And if you don't let me help, it's going to open back up. Now sit still."

His teeth gnashed painfully, jaw locking as the woman started digging through her medkit. Vegeta's eyes widened as she uncurled the white material without casting him a second glance. Surely she had a deathwish. He wished he could summon just the smallest energy blast to teach her a lesson, but just thinking about it caused his peripheral to blur.

After a beat of silence, Bulma filled the void. "You're lucky I found you when I did. Frieza really did a number on you."

"When I heal, I'll be stronger than I was before. He'll suffer for leaving me here to rot." Vegeta didn't seem to infuse any venom into his tone; he just sounded tired with that special touch of his signature frustration.

Bulma gaged him as she secured the gauze around his chest. She'd seen plenty of well toned muscle in her life, but the pulse of power that radiated from the prince made her fingers shake.

"We've got to get out of here first. I am so tired of this fucking planet," Bulma mumbled. Her blue eyes were clear as they met his. Vegeta regarded her coolly as she continued to wrap the bandage around his middle. His fingers shook too. Though his with the urge to strangle her for making him feel so powerless. "Good thing you're in the hands of a genius."

Vegeta blinked as the woman had the audacity to wink. Then he exhaled through his nose and asked, "Do you have a plan?"

"A plan? Sure. Get the hell off this rock."

"Hn." The prince scoffed. "Some plan."

Purposefully tightening the bandage around a particularly tender spot on his abdomen, Vegeta clinched his teeth and narrowed his eyes. The woman only flashed him a saccharine smile and carried on as though she hadn't spotted the nasty bruise and set out to cause him further pain. He looked like an opal - and internal bleeding was a sure thing - but she didn't have any senzu beans on hand and she wasn't a miracle worker. So he'd just have to suffer.

"I'm still hammering out the details. Besides, you're not really bringing anything to the table at the moment."

"No," he agreed around a clenched jaw. And even though he wanted to kill her, if it weren't for her he'd probably be dead. Not that she'd be the first person he'd screwed over after a gesture of goodwill. Though one look at the woman and he knew she wasn't innocent. Unlike Kakarott and his son, she wasn't pure of heart. He smirked. That meant she had selfish reasons for nursing him back to health.

"You healed me back there." He wouldn't lower himself to ask, but Bulma heard the 'why' that wasn't articulated.

She nodded. "Like I said, I'm a genius. But I'm going to need your muscle and your street smarts once we're off Namek. And then, if you're lucky, I might need you to wipe the floor with Frieza."

He quirked a brow.

"Your pals Banan and Sui took out the ship Krillin, Gohan and I came here on," Bulma explained, finishing up with the gauze and rocking back on her feet to survey her handiwork. "But with the parts from your pod and what's left of mine, I think I can get the ship Goku came here on up and running again. And you're going to use that power sensing trick to help me find someone." Bulma chewed on her lip for a moment, lost in thought. "I know it isn't perfect, but Piccolo is somewhere on this planet."

"The Namekian from Earth?"

She nodded. "Hopefully."

"Hn." Vegeta sneered and pushed back his shoulders. Though tender, it wasn't anything he couldn't handle. "Reviving that weakling was a waste of a wish."

"Ah." Bulma couldn't help but grin. "You wanted immortality."

"If things had gone my way we wouldn't be sitting here on our asses."

She shrugged one shoulder and inspected the dirt caked beneath her nails. She really needed a shower. "Maybe. But there was a reason they wished Piccolo back."

He could tell she was keeping something from him, but he'd get the full story from her. Eventually. Even if he had to beat it out of her.

"To answer your question, the plan is to get Piccolo, find Goku's ship, go to Earth," Bulma said, ticking things off her mental list. To herself she added wish back everyone Frieza killed on Namek and then, once the Namekians were back, she'd use their dragon balls to complete the original plan: wish back Yamcha, Tien and Chiaotzu. What they'd do about Frieza was another story. Bulma sighed. It wasn't perfect, but it was something. "So," she continued, meeting the prince's glare, "How're you feeling?"

"Like I've just had a hole blasted through my fucking chest."

She laughed. "Sounds about right. Hungry?"

He turned away from her and glanced at the piles of dirt from where she'd buried the fallen fighters. His stomach growling was answer enough.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vegeta's not a very nice person. He should work on that. Although, I suppose that's half the fun.
> 
> The next one'll be longer. Promise!


	3. Chapter 3

King Kai frowned. His planet had been crowded enough before, but somehow he'd managed to trade Piccolo for Goku, Gohan and Krillin. Although the trio had considerably greater dispositions, he suddenly missed Piccolo's standoffish reserve. And he definitely missed the Namekian's appetite. Or lack thereof.

Tien and Goku were sparring a few yards away. Gohan sat cross legged before them, hands picking at blades of lush green grass, watching with the sort of admiration that only a child could hold for a hero. Even as grimness fell upon the others as they secretly watched on, knowing their hero had failed.

Yamcha frowned, too, because he knew where his fate now lay. In the hands of Bulma, Piccolo and Vegeta - the man who'd inadvertently put him there: dead, but not quite able to rest in peace as he'd been promised. He exhaled through his nose. No. Now he had to watch on as his ex-girlfriend tried to right all their wrongs, alongside two of the biggest pricks in the universe.

And he knew Bulma better than anyone. She'd never manage to bite her tongue. While in some respects he admired her unabashed, free spirited nature, he wasn't so naive to think that her general lack of give-a-damn would keep her safe in the company of Piccolo. Yamcha sighed, again, and turned to King Kai. Surely the Kai was sane enough to see that she wouldn't last a second once Vegeta was back at full strength.

"I think we should wish them back to Earth with the dragon balls," Yamcha repeated. King Kai was playing cards with Chiaotzu and Krillin. Yamcha thought his words might have fallen upon deaf ears, and so continued, "We can have Kami gather them. Then we don't have to worry about Piccolo dying on the way back to Earth."

And thus losing any chance of any of them getting back home; he didn't say it aloud, but the words hung in the air. King Kai perked up. He certainly didn't want _that_.

"They'll make it," Goku said through strangled gasps, pausing his spar to chime in. "Have a little faith, Yamcha."

Yamcha crossed his arms. "Maybe. But it's not worth the risk."

"I'm with Goku," Tien cut in. With a trembling hand, he expunged a layer of sweat from his brow. "If we use the dragon balls now, we'll have to wait another year to get home."

"And, since we're using the first wish to bring the Namekians back, they'd have to wait another year too."

"That's right, Gohan." Goku smiled fondly at his son. He'd love a year to spend training with Gohan on King Kai's planet, but he knew if they spent too long here before being wished back he'd be right back to square one: Dead. Chichi'd see to that. He suppressed a shiver. That, and Frieza was out there waiting as well.

"We'll keep an eye on them," King Kai offered. "Meanwhile, I'll keep thinking of another way and let Kami know." But he usually went with his gut. And his gut was telling him to continue with Plan A.

* * *

"Ug," she groaned, attempting to fill another filtering bottle with lake water. The Namekians just drank the water straight, but she still bothered to run it through chemicals, just in case. Though sometimes she wondered if it was worth the effort.

She'd been put on water duty. And food duty. Vegeta had put himself on recline-on-his-royal-ass-and-shout-orders duty. Bulma rolled her eyes. She longed for the days when he started pulling his weight around here.

Though it'd only been a day and they both knew his strength was rapidly returning. She'd probably be a bitch if there was a hole in her chest, too.

Bringing the pair of bottles back to their camp, Bulma listened for any sounds but there was nothing to crack the silence. It was eery, being on a world so void of life. It made her quicken her pace just to return back to Vegeta.

He might not be buckets of fun, but at least he was there.

"Hey Vegeta," she chirped, entering the capsule house and flashing him both rows of her teeth. She'd kept a toothbrush handy, though her razor was in a sad, rusting state and her black tights were stretching thin, holes threatening around her knees so she didn't dare take them off. Bulma also didn't envy the prince's heightened sense of smell; her yellow tunic was in desperate need of washing. "I'm back."

"Hn;" his standard response.

"Oh, don't get up. And no need to open your eyes. Please, just sit there and be useless."

One of his eyes cracked open, an angry twitch caused one side of his mouth to shift downwards. "I could break you in half with my index finger."

Bulma handed him one of the water bottles before taking a long pull from the second. When she'd had her fill she asked, "So, are you able to sense anyone?"

"Yes. There are three significant power levels in the vicinity, and one that's nearly nonexistent." He concentrated on that one, it was more familiar than the others. "I think that's the Namek."

"He's keeping it suppressed." She pursed her lips and screwed the lid back on her water. "He probably doesn't want to be found."

"Because he thinks all his allies are dead."

"Oh. Yeah." Bulma frowned. "And he's probably wondering why Kami hasn't used the dragon balls to wish him back yet."

Vegeta snapped to attention and Bulma winched. "Shit," she cursed to herself; she'd been hoping to keep that bit of information to herself. It was her trump card, her ticket to gauge if Vegeta was really in this, or if he'd slit her throat and continue on his quest for immortality the second he didn't need her.

"That's why we're going back there," she continued, keeping her voice prim and condescending. "We're going to wish Goku and everyone back."

"Like hell we're wasting another wish on any non-Earthlings who willingly live on that mudball."

Bulma waved her arm as though it would wipe their previous derailment from the official record. "Well, if Piccolo dies then the dragon balls are gone."

Sick of relying on weaklings to keep the dragon balls going, Vegeta closed his eyes, crossed his arms and rested his head against the wall. The woman continued to rattle on about her plan, about the order of things, but Vegeta ignored her in favor of concentrating his thoughts on immortality and Super Saiyan strength.

He'd thought, in the moments before Kakarott's death, that the other man had achieved it. His power level had skyrocketed, his physical form had... changed in some way. It had been only the slightest flicker, but Vegeta was sure he'd seen it.

He would not sit by and watch Kakarott be wished back before he'd secured the opportunity to become the legendary himself.

* * *

The following morning, Vegeta was nearly back to full strength.

He demonstrated so by blasting a distant boulder.

Blinking sleep from her eyes, Bulma frowned at the plume of smoke visible from the hole of her capsule home.

"Yes. Brilliant. Give away our position and destroy our shelter in the process."

"I'm far superior than any other being currently on this planet. If anyone wishes to challenge me I'll-"

She stopped listening to him after that. Bulma might have only been acquainted with him for a few days, but he'd already drained her tolerance for long, rambling speeches about his supremacy. Frieza might have left a nasty scar on his chest, but Vegeta's ego was certainly intact.

Bulma yawned and stretched and tried to focus on anything but the mushroom cloud that alerted every enemy in the world that a cranky Saiyan and a human female were only a few miles away. When her feet were on stable ground she squinted through the sunlight and asked, "Shall we survey the damage?"

Only half expecting the answer that never came, Bulma led the way.

Surprisingly, Vegeta seemed aware of the exact position of Goku's ship. Twice she opened her mouth to question it, but she thought better of it and kept her lips pressed together. She'd seen how he'd taken his rage out on that boulder and didn't fancy the same fate.

The ship came into view. It wasn't awful; Bulma's jaw shifted to one side, but it wasn't perfect. It looked like it had been landed with little knowhow, but given that Goku had been piloting she shouldn't have been surprised. Crouching down, Bulma started to assess the ship she and her father had built. Slowly, she took in the structural damage before moving onto the engine.

From a few yards away, Vegeta watched the woman. She was certainly in her element. He'd never seen her so concentrated, so quiet. But she _had_ reminded him countless times that she was genius. He just hadn't pegged her for a mechanic.

When she came back, a dark smudge stained her left cheek.

"Well?"

She ran a hand through her hair and sighed. "Goku's landing was rough and he somehow managed to cut the fuel line. There's no way we'll have enough to get us back to Earth."

"We can stop for fuel or trade for another ship if there's nothing compatible. That won't be an issue."

"Well, I'll have to replace a couple of the parts if we're to get off Namek. And I'll have to do something about the gravity. I can't tell what's wrong yet, but it's definitely wonky."

Vegeta shrugged. "Leave the gravity. It enhanced Kakarott's strength."

"Maybe that's the case for you, but it'll crush me," Bulma replied, laughter evident in her voice. "So I'm going to fix that." She rubbed at a grease stain on her skirt and took a step back to take another look at the ship. "Any idea where your pod is? The Namekian ship Gohan, Krillin and I came on was blasted not too far from camp. I think with the parts from that I can salvage something."

Vegeta nodded and told her the location of his pod, his mind on how he'd done this to himself for switching allegiances. He'd teamed up with the pair - Gohan and Krillin - supplying them with armor and putting Kakarott in a healing tank. Of course, then they'd all gone and died on him and now here he was. If he'd stayed with Frieza he'd be long gone. But he'd be back to a pawn, a slave.

Bulma was staring off into the distance. "How far are we from Piccolo?"

"Not far. I could fly there in-"

"No. Absolutely not," she cut him off. "I've been abandoned enough times on this planet by men who think they can ignore me. If you think-"

It was her turn to be cut off. Bulma screeched as, in the matter of seconds, she was scooped up in Vegeta's arms and careered west. Though she kicked her feet as the wind whipped her hair around and chapped her lips, a small thrill of excitement shot through her. Vegeta might be a bit of a rogue and a lot of a selfish ass, but at least he included her in things.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Though sensing power levels was a skill relatively new to him, Vegeta had been diligent in his practice. And if there was one thing Vegeta excelled at, it was working obsessively towards a goal in order to achieve it. He never settle for merely _making_ _it_ but rather _mastering_ _it_.

So he wasn't surprised when he landed at the mouth of a cave, the precise location he'd sensed the Namekian miles away, and found himself to be correct. Again.

Both his feet on solid ground, he released the female earthling with little forethought. If he'd intended her harm, he could have delivered in spades. But she was weaker than he'd originally believed. Bulma crashed to the ground with a curse and then turned on her backside. Glaring up and him, she proceeded to shower him with a litany of complaints. Complaints he didn't bother listening to individually, but the sum total of words and her tone suggested she was unhappy with her own lack of strength.

Vegeta grunted. "Call you friend."

"My frie-" Bulma blinked then got to her feet, dusting off the back of her leggings. "Piccolo. Right."

"There's no need," the Namekian said. And though Vegeta was heaps more frightening, Bulma found herself pulling a step closer to his side. "I knew you were coming before you'd landed."

She rolled her eyes at the slighted glare Vegeta shot her way - as though it was her voice that had carried and not the Namekian's ability to sense ki paired with his heightened sense of hearing. And it wasn't like they were trying to sneak up on him anyway. Clearing her voice, she began,

"Piccolo. I know we weren't closely acquainted on Earth, but I'm-"

"Bulma. I know."

"Er, yes. And of course you've met Vegeta."

She felt silly, gesturing with one hand. The pair of men made eye contact, briefly, and Bulma heaved a sigh at the spark of macho-aggression that sizzled between them. It was comical, really.

"We're all friends here, so let's keep our pecker envy a bay, okay?" Only half listening for the response that never came - and wondering if Piccolo even had the proper equipment to be envious of - Bulma carried on, "I believe, with a little work, I can get us on a ship, off this planet and back to Earth."

Piccolo nodded, just once. Bulma didn't bother to explain the specifics of wishing back their - _her_ , rather - friends. Piccolo was an integral part of the dragon balls, after all, and he knew exactly what going back to Earth meant for Goku and the others.

"I saw Frieza rip you in half."

Bulma paled at Vegeta's short, accusatory tone.

"Yes," Piccolo replied. "He did."

"And how did you manage to heal in just three days?" Vegeta himself was up and walking again, but the hole in his chest wasn't yet mended. There was still fresh, pink skin where the energy beam had penetrated and deep, purple bruises marring his chest. Each heartbeat was a throbbing reminder of his own weakness.

When Piccolo only shot him a cool gaze, Bulma offered, "Maybe Namekians just heal quicker than Saiyans?" And at the even colder glare _that_ one earned her, she rolled her eyes. "No offense. You heal quicker than I do, after all." Though thankfully she'd sustained no injuries during the fight.

"What about you?" Piccolo asked, eyes on the Saiyan, not bothering to explain how he could respawn limbs. "Did he let you go after killing the others?"

A long period of silence elapsed, tension fizzling between the cocksure aliens, and Bulma realized she'd have to play interpreter to these two - who were free with their questions but suddenly mute when it came to answers.

"Nope. Vegeta got a pretty nasty hole to the chest. He would've died if I hadn't found him. But he's still not completely healed, so keep your blows low." And with that, she placed both hands on the curve of her hip and tapped one foot. "Let's go then. I'm not going to fly back to base on my own..."

* * *

Bulma had, perhaps foolishly, believed Piccolo's presence would break some of the tension, but it did not. Instead, it meant there was now an audience as she pestered Vegeta about everything from the way he crossed his arms at her suggestion for dinner to his refusal to let her redress his wound.

She was actually slightly annoyed that Vegeta volleyed back every one of her jabs without so much as a single jaw-clench. When it'd been just the two in the capsule house, he'd at least pretended she grated on his every nerve. But now no amount of saccharine-laced sarcasm could get a rise out of him. He just seemed... defeated.

So when the Namekian retired for bed, she lingered in the kitchen, watching Vegeta as he sat on the couch, studying his open palms.

With a steadying breath, she mentally prepared herself for entering the lion's den.

"What's up?"

He stared at her, brows slated over dark eyes. She heaved another sigh. "You seem different. Less inclined to hate me." Which, technically, was a good thing, but unsettling nonetheless. At least before she'd known where they stood.

He shrugged. "I have come to terms with the fact that you are not entirely useless." In fact, he'd seen her prove her worth in regards to both her mechanical skill and her resilience to push forward. If she had a scrap of strength, he might even respect her. As it stood, he wasn't so noble to find her big mouth and steely spine anything but reckless. But perhaps... No. He shook his head and concentrated his efforts on channeling his ire.

Bulma remained unphased. "So, Piccolo's not here to witness you playing healing patient. Mind if I redress that?" She motioned to the gauze layered over his chest where a dull pain remained as a reminder of his weakness. But also a reminder of his increased strength, when it healed. A few more days and he'd be even stronger than before.

"I know you're going to heal on your own because you're a big, strong Saiyan and all that, but if you let me I could expedite the process."

Between Bulma bringing up his would time and time again and the Namekian - who he'd _watched_ be ripped in two - for being at full strength quicker than he, Vegeta was really starting to resent the two allies he'd been dealt.

In fact, recently it was like the shit was piling up. For years he'd been nothing - _nothing_. A prince without a throne, a monarch without a planet and a warrior without a race. Then he'd gone to Earth and he'd lost the one thing that set him apart: his tail. On Namek he'd given up his shaky allieginces for his freedom, but he'd been bested by a third class who had to assist his own prince in taking out the Ginyu Force.

Sensing the direction of his thoughts, Bulma laid a hand on his shoulder. Then squawked at the pulse of energy that silhouetted his frame.

"You idiot! You burnt me!" Her eyes were wide and watering as she cradled the hand against her chest. Nose in the air, she popped open the medkit intended for Vegeta's chest wound and set to work applying sulfadiazine to her palm. She knew he was strong and she knew he could hurt her, but she hadn't expected... _that_. Not when it hadn't been provoked.

At her right, Vegeta sat watching her tend to her blistered palm. He hadn't intentionally meant to cause her harm. His ki had spiked at her action, but intended or not he wasn't going to apologize. Perhaps she'd finally understand. She might be his only chance getting off this shithole and he might be her only shot staying alive in a universe she was naive about, but they were not friends.

As she rubbed the clear gel across the burn, she asked, "Why did you team up with Gohan and Krillin?"

Silence settled between them. Bulma winced as she rubbed the tender flesh with her index and pointer fingers, then reached for the gauze. When Vegeta answered, she'd nearly forgotten her own question.

"It was operating alone, but they proved useful."

"Okay..." she trailed, watching him from the corner of her eye. "So they helped you beat up Ginyu and those other idiots." He almost smirked. "And the pretty one, Zarbon, the one you killed right in front of me before taking our dragon ball." Her brows narrowed, but it was out of playful aggression and not true anger. "What were you going to wish for, anyway?"

"Immortality," he managed through clenched teeth. It was supposed to be a solo mission. He'd get to Namek, gather the dragon balls, and wish for immortality. If things had gone according to plan he wouldn't have failed to defeat Frieza. He wouldn't have laid, broken, watching the tyrant taking off with another victory. He wouldn't have ever begged Kakarot to avenge their people.

"Immortality?" Bulma laughed. "That's a stupid thing to wish for."

He shot her a glare and she chanced another grin.

"What? It is. Why would anyone want to live forever? Don't you hate this place?" She gestured around vaguely and he nodded; she was right, it was all shit anyway. "Why would you want to stay _here_ forever? And besides, being immortal wouldn't change being weaker than Frieza. It doesn't sound very fun to me, dying over and over again."

"Well it doesn't matter now."

"Can't you just... get stronger than him on your own?"

His entire demeanor stiffened. "Oh, of course. What a novel concept."

"I know it'd take work," she snapped, rolling her eyes and setting her bandaged arm on her lap, "but you have a good bit of free time. If you'd like, once the ship is running, I could design some training gear. Weights, bots to spar with, that sort of thing."

He blinked. It was easier to keep himself from fantasizing about killing her when she was like this. And then, once again, she opened her mouth,

"You killed my boyfriend, you know." Her face pensive, she gave a shrug. "Ex-boyfriend, maybe." They were on and off again, but it never meant anything. Together or not, Yamcha would always mean something to her. Even if he was currently Kami-knows-where doing Kami-knows what.

Vegeta lifted one brow, finding himself genuinely curious. "Which one was he?"

"The tall one, with the scar."

He laughed. "I didn't kill him. A saibaman did." Pathetic.

"It isn't funny." She tried for anger, but it came off sounding tired. Picking at the loose bandage, she tried not to remember the events she'd seen broadcasted live. She could still remember the horrible emptiness that consumed her when he was gone after so many years of being there; she could still hear the sound of Puar's cries as he pounded tiny fists against the television set.

Vegeta's voice brought her back to reality. "Aren't you planning on wishing him back anyway?"

"Yeah. And I guess I can't be too pissed since you're on my side now. At least, you'll kill anyone who threatens your own missions, which also happens to be my mission. And for now, that's good enough for me." She smiled slightly, one corner of her mouth flexing then falling slack. Yamcha needed her. Goku, Gohan, Krillin, Tien, Chiaotzu... they were all depending on her and Piccolo. She frowned. And Vegeta, too. So their shaky at best partnership would have to be enough, because it was all she had.

* * *

Since her hand was burned and she wasn't winning any powerlifting competitions anyway, the following morning Bulma took advantage of the free labor.

She couldn't help the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. It split into a blinding, teeth-flashing grin when both males grumbled. The weight of the wreckage was nothing to them, of course, but they had found a common enemy in her.

Bulma stood to one side of the ship, pointing out scraps of metal for the boys to lug across the field and onto the pile near their camp where Goku's battered vessel lay. From what Vegeta understood, the woman had built that ship and had repaired the Namekian craft she'd come on. Apparently she'd even tinkered with one of the pods he and Nappa had brought to Earth. So, she assured them for the thousandth time that morning, she was capable of putting something together.

"Careful!" she shouted, watching as Vegeta dumped another armful of parts. There was a crash, and she prayed nothing broke. At least nothing vital. "Piccolo, there were two of those; they're both important. Make sure..." She sighed as the Namekian unceremoniously tossed one of the compressor brackets to the ground and took off back towards the ship.

Vegeta pried a piece of the engine out of the Namekian craft and held it at arm's length. "Is she always like this?"

"Hn," the other man snorted. "You should spend an afternoon with Goku's wife."

 


	5. Chapter 5

He detested earthlings.

First Kakarot decided not to kill him, disgracing his true heritage in favor of embracing human concepts of forgiveness and trust. And then the earth woman, Bulma, had taken it upon herself to save his life when he was too weak to protest. Even if she hadn't pitied him - and thank the Kais for that - she'd purposefully spared him. And he resented her for it. To further agitate his wounds, he didn't hate her. Though he'd sooner let the fat earthling take his tail again than admit to _that_ aloud.

But in that moment, it was the Earth Namek wearing his already thin tolerance. He wasn't as naive as Kakarot and he certainly wasn't as grating as Bulma, but there was something about him Vegeta didn't like.

Not that Vegeta ever _liked_ anyone.

"Hn," he grunted, exhaling through his nose and continuing to pummel the empty space before him. Balled fists boxed air, twice with his left arm and then thrice with his right.

From beneath the shade of a nearby tree, the Namekian watched on with a scowl. Piccolo didn't like anyone either.

"Can't you go somewhere else?" he growled between grit teeth.

Vegeta frowned and extended his right arm. "Can't you?"

"I was here first."

"You weren't doi-" Vegeta's words halted and both men turned in the direction of the clearing where their temporary dwelling sat. Piccolo hopped to his feet, his eyes wide. Vegeta's arms dropped to his sides. His fingers flexed outwards before tightening back into fists. There was a familiar ki closing in, one that took a moment to place.

"Impossible."

Piccolo continued to stare towards the clearing. "Who is that?"

"Brinde," Vegeta snapped in response. Brinde, one of Frieza's henchmen, was a rank below his own, but he was fairly high in status and modest in strength. Though he wouldn't have posed a threat to him, even before Vegeta's power surge since landing on Namek. "How is he still alive?"

"I guess I shouldn't be surprised Frieza would leave behind some of his own men."

Without bothering to answer, Vegeta took off in the direction of the capsule house. Piccolo was quick on his heels.

They both stopped when they reached the clearing. Vegeta glared up at the approaching figure, now just a blur in the sky, while Piccolo dropped into a fighting stance.

"Uh...?" Bulma paused, wrench hovering inches from the bolt she'd been about to secure. While Vegeta had been beating the shit out of air and Piccolo had been clearing his mind under a tree, Bulma had been hard and work repairing their ship.

"What's up?" she asked, blinking at the stoic men. They were really quite a pair, she thought. They could probably be great friends, if either were just a touch friendlier.

"Go inside," Piccolo commanded.

She frowned in response. Opening her mouth to protest, she realized she was being ignored and followed their narrowed gazes upwards. She had to cup a hand over her brow and squint, but Bulma could make out a figure above. "Hey. Who's that?"

Piccolo and Vegeta ignored her.

"One of Frieza's men?" And then she dropped the hand still clutching the wrench and frowned. "What's the problem? You guys beat Ginyu's goons handedly. One of Frieza's lower cronies shouldn't be an issue, right?"

Vegeta grit his teeth. Piccolo shifted his stance slightly as the man above took shape. A flat skull pulled taut with scaly red skin was dotted with a pair of beady eyes. Thin lips parted to reveal sharp teeth in what Bulma could only assume was a smile. He wore the standard armor of Frieza's army; his thick arms crossed above his chestplate the moment his booted feet touched down.

A small, choking sound escaped her throat. She took a shaky step backwards, holding the wrench against her chest as though to protect herself. Bulma might be confident that Vegeta and Piccolo could take him, but the newcomer was still scary as hell.

Brinde tapped a finger against his scouter, his gaze traveling from the Namekian to Bulma and then resting on Vegeta. His grin widened.

"How's it possible you've gotten weaker since we last met, Vegeta?" the newcomer asked as the numbers on his scouter came to a halt. "Frieza beat you beyond repair, hm?"

"Hn," Vegeta grunted. As Bulma watched on, she noticed the way his casual demeanor shifted into something sinister. His lips pulled into a smirk and the energy around him seemed to crackle. Though she couldn't sense power levels herself, she could feel the ki radiating from his from a few yards away. "Perhaps you should check again, Brinde. I think your scouter's malfunctioning."

Brinde's eyes winded as the numbers began to climb. "H-how? How is it possible to keep your resting power level suppressed?"

"It's an interesting trick," he mocked in reply, "One you won't live long enough to learn."

"Even if you aren't at full strength, you're injured." Brinde's gaze flicked over to Piccolo. "Oh. It appears we left one of you alive. Step aside Vegeta; I'll deal with this one."

"Hn," Vegeta snarled. From her position now slightly obstructed by the space ship, Bulma bit her lip. Half from fear and the other half to tap down on the urge to lecture the boys to move their chest puffing somewhere not in the vicinity of her, her house, her ship and everything else she had with her on Namek.

Piccolo, however, only crossed his arm and took one step to the side. Even injured, Vegeta was probably stronger than the Namekian.

"Well?" Brinde asked, the hairless skin above his eyes quirking in question. "What'll it be, Vegeta? Will you just stand there or will you go out, fighting your death like a man?"

In a movement too quick for Bulma's senses, Vegeta moved behind Frieza's menion and delivered a single, swift kick to the back. Brinde fell forwards but took little time hopping back to his feet. Swerving around to face the smirking Saiyan, he unleashed a flurry of punches. During the first blows, Vegeta concentrated on his defense. It had been a long time since he'd fought last - _too_ long - and he allowed his muscles to settle into the natural rhythm of the fight. He stopped one of Brinde's punches inches from his face, squeezed the fist until he heard the satisfying snap of bone.

There it was. The thrill of defeat. Vegeta knew this wasn't a fair fight, but he wasn't sure how many others were left for him on this planet. This might be his last chance to duel for weeks, and he wasn't going to go wasting it in seconds.

Taking his time, he took a step back and allowed the other man to charge him.

Piccolo sighed. He knew it was never wise to play with one's opponents, but he wasn't in the mood to speak up. Bulma craned her neck - first left, then right, then left again - trying to keep up with the pair of blurry figures. She couldn't tell much of anything.

When Brinde landed a horse kick to Vegeta's ribs, the prince spat a bit of bloody phlegm and heaved a heavy breath. _Fuck._ The bruises across his ribs still resembled a child's finger painting, and the tender flesh ached. While Brinde heaved with nausea, he saw - for the first time since they'd begun exchanging blows - that he had the upper hand.

"You have improved." Brinde grinned, spitting towards his opponent. "But you are nothing against one of Frieza's elite."

Vegeta laughed. It wasn't a proper laugh, not really. Bulma decided it was a rather malicious chortle, but she figured any laughing during battle was probably a good sign. She heaved a sigh of relief and loosened her grip on the wrench.

"Yes. I suppose you would be one of Frieza's elite now," Vegeta mocked. "Since I killed Zarbon. And Dodoria. And the Ginyu Force." Brinde's eyes widened a fraction. "I've had a good run on this rock, but if you're offering another loyal fool for me to wipe the floor with, I won't complain."

With a ferocious growl, Brinde charged. After several seconds of attempting to get the better of Vegeta's defenses, Brinde lost his temper. Vegeta seized the opportunity, catching the other man's slip up and knocking him flat on his back.

Sneering down at the other man, Vegeta lifted one palm, gathered a flare of energy, and smirked. Without any last words, Brinde faced the ki blast with wide eyes and an open mouth.

Bulma squinted as the binding energy built up speed and collided with Frieza's man.

Vegeta frowned. He'd won, sure, but it shouldn't have been that close. His ribs ached. He still wasn't at full force. What he wouldn't give for a senzu bean or a healing tank... Anything but the woman's scolding voice and her meager box of bandages and sticky creams.

* * *

"Piccolo's awake," Bulma said, dropping onto the couch at Vegeta's side. He stiffened, blinked, and shifted an inch further away from her. "He's just... sitting there." Biting her lip, she leaned forward to catch his gaze. Vegeta's frown deepened. "It's creepy."

Finally, using up all the good will he had left in him, Vegeta managed, "He's meditating."

"Yeah?" One of her sculpted brows lifted. "So what? It's still creepy."

Vegeta ignored her. She sighed. It was a long, dramatic one that she'd perfected. It had always come in handy making Yamcha feel guilty, but it seemed to have absolutely no effect on her new housemates. Neither Piccolo nor Vegeta was the least bit interested catering to her every whim.

Piccolo was a-sexual, so she'd forgiven him. But she didn't understand why Vegeta was immune to her womanly charms. She puffed out her chest and dropped her gaze to the prince's middle.

"How're your ribs?"

"Go away."

"Yeah." She nodded sagely. Spinning on her backside, she turned to face him and tucked her feet beneath her. "I think they're broken. And there's most likely some internal bleeding. Maybe we should wrap them again?"

" _We_ shouldn't do anything. Now leave me."

Bulma frowned and glanced around the room. There was no book in Vegeta's hands and the television wasn't on. "What are you doing out here anyway?"

He'd been thinking. Playing his battle with Brinde over and over again in his head. He'd already exhausted his fight with Frieza so many times that, whenever he closed his eyes, the purple alien was all he could see. But now he had a new fight to pick apart, to gauge his progress and to improve upon.

"Piccolo just sits on his floor doing nothing, and you just sit in the living room staring at nothing." They were both freaks, Bulma decided. How had she found herself sharing a home with a green-skinned man with worse social skills than a monk who'd taken a vow of silence and a short prince with an attitude worse than a teenage girl pms-ing? Not that she had any delusions of winning Miss Congeniality herself, but at least she was _trying_ to get along.

"Do you have a death wish?"

Bulma shrugged, still deep in thought.

"Hn." Vegeta's jaw tightened. "You really are as dumb as you look." All her tinkering with machines had done nothing to change his opinion of her intelligence.

"I'm not dumb," she replied, turning her nose up at the mere suggestion.

"But you're not afraid of death?"

"Of course not." Bulma shrugged. "Dying's not a big deal. We all do it once, maybe twice."

Vegeta's brow furrowed as he watched the earthling shrug off the notion of death. Sure, she'd grown up with the dragon balls, but there was certainly something strange about her. Something... Well, he didn't care enough to think too hard about it anyway.

Bulma grinned. "So? Can I at least try to fix those broken ribs of yours? You'll thank me later, I promise."

"No. Go away."

She glanced around the room and frowned. "No. I'm bored. And besides, I have nowhere to go."

"Fine," Vegeta grunted, getting to his feet at starting towards the door.

Bulma laughed, and when he cast her a sideways glance he caught her fanning her lashes like an idiot at him.

"Why? Are you afraid of spending so much time in a confined space with a pretty girl?"

He exhaled through his nose. Annoyed, he simply crossed the remainder of the room, yanked open the door and went outside. It was warm and bright, even though it felt like evening.

Through the doorway, he could hear Bulma chatting aloud to herself. Vegeta shook his head. She really was a strange one. Brave and idiotic, and - yes - attractive like she said. He had no qualms with admitting that. He'd fucked better, and certainly worse.

His ribs ached. When he closed his eyes, Frieza materialized from the blackness behind his lids. Brinde stood behind him. Brinde, the weakling that shouldn't have been able to land a single punch, but still caused him pain. And behind them both, Kakarot. The Saiyan from Earth who'd Vegeta seen first hand change. In that moment, Kakarot's power level had skyrocketed. And his hair had flickered yellow.

Vegeta opened his eyes and clenched his teeth.

Before he wished that idiot back, Vegeta had to ascend. And when they did use the dragon balls, he'd fight Kakarot to prove to everyone that he was the strongest Saiyan alive once and for all.

* * *

Sweat gathered under Bulma's breasts. She yanked at the stretchy material of her tunic and growled in frustration. The guys had managed to move most of the parts she'd requested from Goku's ship, but she couldn't find a stator anywhere amongst the rubble of parts they'd moved.

When she'd described the part she'd needed - in great detail - to Vegeta and Piccolo, they'd shot her twin scowls. Neither had said anything. Vegeta had gone back to punching air and Piccolo to sitting beneath the shade of a tree.

As she continued to cut a path across the woods, Bulma grumbled to herself. A part of her was still worried that someone else - someone strong and terrifying like Brinde - was out there.

"At least I've made progress," she reasoned. If she continued at her current pace, they'd be leaving Namek in no time. She'd tried explaining to the guys that the more they followed her rules - rules like getting her a stator the _first_ time she asked - the quicker they'd all be able to leave. "But getting Vegeta to follow directions is like trying to nail jelly to a wall."

And then, when she was a few feet from where the rubble of the ship lay, she heard something like a twig snap. Her heart beat frantically in her chest, her blue eyes widened.

Shit, shit, _shit_.

Bulma took off at a sprint, back towards the men who, now that she thought of it, _were_ actually good at something. Only a few meters into her scramble, her booted toes caught and she face planted.

"Ug," she groaned, spitting out a bit of dirt and running her tongue over the broken skin of her lower lip.

A pair of white boots stood in front of her. Cautiously, she trailed her gaze up a pair of muscular legs clad in royal blue spandex. She craned her neck and blinked at the sight of Vegeta, frowning down at her and holding a circular metal part in his hands.

Vegeta watched as she attempted to push herself up with shaky arms. Instead of helping, he dropped the stator to the ground. It fell with a hollow 'plonk' and Bulma averted her gaze from the frowning prince to the engine part she'd been after.

She opened her mouth to say something, but she wasn't sure what. Vegeta shot her one last look and then spun on his royal heel and left.

"Shit," she mumbled, but the woods were already empty apart from her and the stator.

* * *

The others were still training. Yamcha winced at the sound of Goku's request for dinner followed by everyone's hearty laughter.

Yamcha stood watching the events of his girlfriend's adventures play out. He'd always known she was brave - idiotically fearless, sometimes - but he couldn't help but worry about her now. Even if she'd be pissed for how little faith he had in her. Picturing her face red with anger almost made him smile. Almost.

It was actually fairly surprising that Vegeta had managed to control his temper so far. He hadn't harmed Bulma; he hadn't even threatened to. A small comfort, sure, but Yamcha felt at ease knowing that Vegeta needed Bulma. It wasn't his ideal situation, but it was certainly better than the alternative.

WIth a sigh, he turned towards the gang starting towards King Kai's house.

"What's for dinner?" Yamcha asked, managing a smile.

Goku's stomach rumbled and Gohan sighed. "Does it even matter?"

And this time, Yamcha's smile wasn't forced.

 


End file.
